Branching Out
by JasperK
Summary: When the Trigun gets too much, and the head cinema plays far too interesting reels - only it is not canon, so where do I put it? HERE! Not Trigun Canon, but Trigun Captivation. Saucy stories and other entertainment to follow.
1. Chapter 1: Floofy Vash

**Floofy Vash**

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A/N: Ok, fan fic of fan art/fic - I am sunk so deep in this I've drowned ... is this heaven or is this purgatory?

Shout out to Karaii & D-Watson on this one. Your Trigun art is _inspirational_, what can I say? Apologies to Karaii for making your AU more Trigun canon than it is and to [Adreean] on Deviant Art for nicking the title.

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Meryl lay curled up in her bed, feeling more than under the weather. In fact, she had been sick for three days and still showed no sign of getting better. It had not helped that Milly had gone off on some _errand_, which she suspected involved some devious dealings with a certain priest. This errand left her alone for the day. In some ways she was grateful as she had intended to sleep, in others, not so much. With Wolfwood out of the picture, it meant Vash was bored, and a bored Vash meant a restless Vash. He had spent the afternoon play wrestling with the kids, and had just got in, hot and dusty.

She lay huddled up in her bed watching through the crack in the door as he ambled around the kitchen of the house they had rented. He picked up various items from the counter and put them down again. He found the box of doughnuts (by smell, she was sure) in the cupboard under the sink. He ate them with great gusto, which kept him still for perhaps ten seconds, and then he moved to inspect the fridge with the same restlessness. He closed the fridge, not finding anything to his liking, and stared at the print he left on the door. He turned his hand over and brushed it off on his duster then peered down at his coat and scowled at the dirt collected there. He tried to pat the dust off, then coughed and began to unbutton his coat. After struggling with a fiddly middle button, he then shrugged it off.

She stared. As usual he was wearing his leather body armour, over his bare torso, and blue trousers. He held up the coat and with a great flick of his arms whipped it in the air, making the dust fly. He broke out into another fit of coughing as the dust settled. All over him, the kitchen and the food Milly had left out for Meryl to eat. Oh Vash. She almost laughed as he noticed what he had done, and gaped at the food in dismay. She was distracted by the play of his muscles on his chest as he reached up to scratch the back of his neck. He glanced around a bit perplexed as to what to do, and gave a shrug. Somehow, he made the movement so graceful. Meryl felt her stomach flip as he glanced towards the room where she was. She hastily closed her eyes, and pretended to sleep. Having her eyes shut was possibly the best and worst thing. Ooh, she could still see his outline in her mind, and this time there was no leather armour to keep her mind in more respectable places.

She heard his boots crunch the dust against the cement floor as he passed the door. She peeked, and saw him go into his room. She snuggled down, trying to relax and go back to sleep. Her head hurt. Sleep would be so good. She heard muffled movements and sounds from the next room and opened her eyes again, wondering what Vash could be doing. She sat up, trying to see his room, but could not from the way her door was almost closed. The next moment he walked past, she melted back onto her bed. He had stripped naked, and all she caught was a view of his pale white buttocks and dusty hair before he stepped into the bathroom on the opposite side of the kitchen. Everything else, had fortunately - or unfortunately she later thought- been covered by the towel he carried over his shoulders and the bundle of clean clothes.

She lay blinking at the dark ceiling as she could hear him busy in the shower. There was no way she could go to sleep now. Someone's naked rear end was sure to make a prominent feature in any dreams she had. How was it that an arse could look so, so, well, er, magnificent? It was something about the way he moved. The way the muscles shifted beneath the skin with the powerful stride he had. She had not even noticed the scars as she usually did. Oh, those scars fascinated her; she wanted to touch them. Just to try to understand all those little painful parts of his life he kept hidden behind his happy smile and friendly nature.

There was a sudden yell of fright from the bathroom, followed by a rather sickening thud of a body falling. Meryl jumped out of the bed and staggered across to the bathroom, groggily.

"Vash? You okay?"

There was no reply. She put her pounding head against the door. The shower was still going.

"I'm coming in." She called through the door.

There was still no reply.

She twisted the door handle and found it locked. Damn. She slipped back into her room and found her lock picks then set to work on the simple lock. She had it open in a few moments. She pushed it open gingerly, and was very glad she was still crouched on the floor as she did so. She sank all the way to the floor and leaned against the doorpost in shock.

It was not the fact that Vash was sprawled across the bathroom floor naked. Okay, it mostly was. Goodness, he was a well, er, gosh where was a towel? If he woke up now and saw her staring at his frankly magnificent, er, body. But that wasn't all. Instead of well-toned frame captivating her eyes, no they were not fixated on a certain... Meryl, eyes front! Oh they were, they were. Damn, where was a towel? If she was going to help him, she needed a towel, not for his modesty, but for her infinitesimally short attention span. She pushed herself to her feet and grabbed the towel he had thrown over the edge of the chair and dropped it over him. Hah, that was better. Now she could think, a little, and no, this was no time for her brain to replay images. Focus Meryl. He is hurt. You have to help him. Pleasant dreaming can happen later.

She could see what had shocked him so much that he had slipped and fallen. His body had changed in odd ways. He had two large feathery wings now growing out of his back. His hair, instead of being its usual spikey yellow tufts, was still fluffy, except it seemed to be made of feathers much like the back wings were. Now that she could see the whole of him, he looked like an angel. Was this what happened to plants? Was it some sort of biological evolution? It had certainly surprised him.

He was sopping wet. She turned the shower off and sat down on the chair to catch her breath. Her head pounded and she breathed heavily as she tried to get her dizziness under control. Her illness and the potency of his presence were conspiring to have her faint right beside him. She took a steadying breath and then stood up and went to fetch her towel. She was not moving his, not unless she wanted to explain a very awkward scenario to Wolfwood and Milly later.

She sat down on the dry space on the floor beside his head and after checking for injuries, gently dried his face. She traced his lip with her thumb, loosing herself in the gesture for a moment. She could feel his breath on her fingers. He was so different lying still like this, without the energy and light behind his eyes. She fluffed the towel through his strange feathery hair until she had most of the water out, but was too concerned with bending the feathers to scrub the towel through his hair as she did to her own.

She went to fetch Milly's towel, she hoped her friend would not mind the sacrifice, and set it on the floor. With several heaves, tugged him out of where he was lying half in the shower, half in a puddle of water, to the towel. She set about drying him, his wings first, as they were feathers. But she found that the feathers seemed to keep the wet from touching the skin of the wing structure beneath and she only needed to carefully dry the outer layer. She checked to see if he was awake, but he did not stir.

She wiped his back dry, taking care to avoid catching the towel on the pins and grids he had attached to his body. She also resisted the temptation to run her fingers along the broader scars. She was more careful with the towel on the front of his chest. That wound over his left chest bothered her. How did he dry it? The towel did not fit easily into the little holes. She did as delicate and through a job as she could then moved on down his stomach. Instead of inspecting the scars as she had done, she patted the towel over his abdominal muscles. He was so fit! Each was well defined and she thought it a pity that he was so attached to that red coat of his. She certainly would not mind if he walked around shirtless in the house. On second thoughts, the reports she had to send back to Bernadelli would be x-rated if he did. She checked again to see if he was awake, but he still breathed steadily and was out to the world.

She chickened out and left drying his nether regions for last, praying he would be awake by then. She started on his feet. She had never examined his toes before. They were well proportioned and as long and skinny as the rest of his body. He had also cut his toenails recently, for which she gave him extra points, for grooming. She sighed as she ran a finger down the curved instep of his foot; his skin was so soft. He had a full score of points just wearing that damned red coat of his, everything else, including the scars merely gave him bonus points. It was his personality, which earned him a minus score on most days; the way he would rile her with just a look or a silly remark, or that sad empty smile. She shifted around to dry his calf. Phew, she felt tired, hot and very shaky. She hoped it was the fever, because if this was what merely looking at his body while he was unconscious did to her, she did not want to know what would happen if he were to be awake and responsive to her touch. Oh man, but did he have some shapely legs. She had never thought a man could have legs worth looking at, but that was yet another exquisite anatomical feature hidden by that red coat of his. She smiled to herself as she began to hatch a plan to hide the damned coat.

She brushed his towel slightly as she dried his upper thigh and almost jumped out of her skin as his prosthetic fingers closed over her wrist. She gaped at him, her face flushing crimson. He smiled dazedly at her, his eyes unfocussed.

"Mmh?" He murmured. "Mmm head hurts. An' mmm back."

"You fell." She said, trying surreptitiously to get her wrist free, but his fingers were locked around hers.

"Why, why no clothes on?" He asked, blinking and trying to focus on her.

"You were in the shower, you slipped."

He seemed rather disappointed. She wished she had come up with something suave to say. He tried to sit up but his wings responded to the motion too and he jerked around, trying to look at his back and sit up at the same time. He ended up on top of his wings, the towel not covering much. Meryl kept her eyes on his face.

"Er." The strain of not dropping her gaze was beginning to make her eyes hurt.

He frowned at her, then glanced down and blushed crimson and snatched up the towel. It was odd; the skin on his stomach also went red. He struggled into a sitting position and she found she had to look up at him. Goodness, she forgot how tall he was, even sitting beside her; he topped her by over a foot. He scratched his neck self consciously, his cheeks still pink, but the colour faded as a look of horror came over his face. He tried to pull at his hair to see it.

"My, my hair! What is wrong with my hair?"

"Nothing. It's just feathers." She said and stood. She felt too weak and powerless beside him, even though he was naked.

She reached over, and ran her fingers through it. Now that it was dry, it was so soft. Even, softer than she imagined his usual hair to be. The feathers under the main ones which stood up from his head were even softer. She wanted stand there and run her fingers across his scalp forever. She smiled slightly then swayed as she stood. Oh, she had forgotten how ill she was still feeling.

"Insurance girl!" Vash got to his feet and tied the towel around his waist.

Damn, now he was towering over her again. On second thoughts, that put his well-defined torso right at her eye level, no complaints about that.

"You're still ill! Why are you out of bed?"

"Because someone got a fright at his new appearance!" She said snippily.

"Wha? Wouldn't you?" He asked, half whining in that aggravating tone of his. She wondered if he used it to rile her deliberately.

Then he stretched out his arms and his wings followed the motion. The things this did to his chest. She did not know where to look. He then shrugged his shoulders and flexed his arms, the muscles rippling fluidly in a mesmerising motion. He managed to get the wings moving independently of his arms. She watched the graceful movement with a light head.

"Hey! Insurance girl? Meryl! Don't faint on me here!"

She blinked to find that he had his prosthetic arm around her and was patting her cheek with his right hand.

"You need to go back to bed." He said in that soft concerned voice she rarely heard. It was the voice that made her insides knot up in anxiety. It reminded her that he saw far more than he let on and felt deeper than he showed. "This way."

"I can walk!" She pushed away as she felt suddenly claustrophobic by his closeness, and almost collapsed as her legs gave way. He caught her before she fell.

"You're sick." He reminded her as if she had forgotten. Hah, what kind of head cold and flu ever made her faint? That was completely his doing, stupid man.

She was impressed at his gentleness in his strength as he half carried her as he walked her across to her room. He lifted the blankets and she climbed gratefully into bed and lay down, shaking. He tucked the blankets over her, taking a little longer than was needed to smooth the blankets out over her. There was something very comforting with the weight of his hands on her back.

"Sleep and get better." He whispered and left the room.

She heard him walk across the kitchen, then pause.

"Hey? Hey! Didn't I lock the bathroom door?"

She closed her eyes and pretended to be very fast asleep. If he remembered the position he was in when he had first woken, well she did not want to be around to face the embarrassment. Sleep could not come fast enough.


	2. Chapter 2: Befuddlement and Bemusement

**Befuddlement and Bemusement**

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_A/N: I owe people. A certain WSK for turning my life upside down (I needed it!)_

_And to everyone here, who reads so avidly! Thank you. (Note this is a PoV mirror of ch1.)_

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His head aching, Vash walked back through the hot sun, trying to keep to the shade cast by the houses on the side of the road. It didn't work very well, as he was just too tall to duck his head comfortably into the shadow. His coat kept the rest of him reasonably cool, but the sun was incessantly beating heat out today, and his head wasn't covered by his coat. He mused about asking Kain to design a hood for him, then rejected the idea as an awful image of his wonderful spikey hair being mussed out of place each time he drew the hood. He laughed aloud at the mental image of himself in a hood; no he had his ragged old brown cape for that. He could manage the sun, he was just being pathetic now because he was hurt. The headache was the least of his worries.

He was surprised at how badly his back still hurt even ten minutes after the last tangled wrestle. Something had clicked and it had been all he could do not to scream at the pain as he tried to disengage the children without them being worried. In the end, he had begged a toilet break, and after some convincing dancing around, they had let him go. Some of the kids had giggled in embarrassment on his behalf; others had suggested convenient side alleys for his use. He gingerly tried to stretch his arms to reach that awkward spot on his back below his shoulder blades. Ow! He must have landed on a rock, or something. Or was it a pinched nerve? He had injured himself in countless ingenious ways, but this was new.

He reached the house and pushed the door open. Closing the door on the heat, he was relieved to find it cool and quiet within, if anything, his back was beginning to hurt worse than when he had injured it earlier. He could see the food laid out for the evening meal, but he needed comfort food, and he had heard Meryl put the box away earlier. There was a certain sound a deluxe box of doughnuts made when slid across a surface. He checked under the sink, and sure enough they were there. He opened it and gaped at the contents in disappointment, only three left! Milly and Wolfwood must have been at it, as he never saw Meryl eat them. Ah, at least they left some for him that was kind. He ate with gusto, then almost instantly regretted it. The ache in his back and his head combined with his stomach's enthusiastic digestion to make him feel nauseous. Oh man, he needed something to wash it down with, fast. He inspected the fridge and found only expired milk that was bloating the container, and piles of pudding that Milly had bought. He closed the fridge irritably.

It was then he noticed the dirt. He glanced down at his coat, it was more orange than red with the fine dust that covered everything. Well, that would not do! He tried to brush it off, and the gesture made his backache even more. Ow. He could not feel anything, but maybe the coat was restricting his movements. He slipped his coat off and held it up; damn it was caked in dust. He tried to whip the dust off the coat so he would not have to go through the tedious process of brushing it. He coughed in the cloud of dust that formed, and blinked in dismay. That had failed spectacularly, not only was the coat still full of dust, but so was the entire kitchen. His back hurt like blazes and his head was seriously beginning to pound. He scratched at his neck, trying to figure out what to do next. He gave up, he just wanted to curl up and sleep. He tried to ease the ache on his back by shrugging, but if anything that made it worse. His body armour was beginning to dig into him in uncomfortable places on his back, and the insidious dust had sneaked under his coat and clung to the sweat. Ugh, he needed a shower. He brightened up at that idea; hot water would defiantly help with the aches.

He hurried to his room, abandoned the coat on the dresser behind the door, and struggled out of the body armour. Oh, that felt so much better. He tried to feel his back with his right hand, but it was so sensitive that it hurt to touch. If this got any worse, he was going to have to dig out painkillers. He was very reluctant to use them except in emergencies; they were a special make from the labs on the Seeds ship, which lasted more than the twenty minutes it took for his body to burn off the effects of the stuff that worked for humans. No, he would not use them, he had been in worse situations and would be again, there were times he might really need them and would regret wasting them here.

He dug through the contents of his duffle, flung his towel over his shoulders, and grabbed clean clothes. He checked the kitchen - there were no neighbours looking in at the window - and darted across it naked. He locked the bathroom door behind him and dumped his things on the chair there. He cranked the shower tap to the fullest the heat would go then stood under the flow and breathed out. It already felt better. He scrubbed his hands through his hair, feeling the heat ease the headache, and backache. Then, just as he thought it was easing, it began to grow again. The pain was not as it had been outside, aching and annoying, but sharp and uncomfortable, and somehow different. He clamped his hands to his head in panic. He knew this feeling. Where? Where had he felt it before? Why did it bring so much terror? He gave a terrified cry of alarm as he remembered, it was the same feeling he had felt when Knives had forced him to use his angel arm. In flat panic, he flung his arm out, but nothing had happened. There were no strange mutations, warping, or pain on his arms, but his head and his back were making up for it. Then a surge of pain lanced through him and he remembered no more.

He floated. He tried to move but his body felt too heavy and sluggish. From time to time he felt someone touch him, and in his floating state the touch seemed to push him through the strange substance that held him. It was a pleasant feeling, and very relaxing. He enjoyed the drifting and the touch. He felt his body slowly settle from its floating state into a solid form that rested on the ground with its own weight. The touches continued in the same pleasant manner. His feet were rubbed and each nail on his toes was carefully traced, though this touch was a soft smooth sensation. Then he felt the brisk motions around his ankles, and again, the soft touch afterwards, tracing his anklebones and the delicate skin by his Achilles tendons. It felt so good he lay with his eyes shut enjoying the dream.

The sensation crept up his calf and the same soft touch inspected his knees with delicacy. It felt almost like someone was tracing their fingers around his knee caps. He blinked groggily and saw the blurry form of the small insurance girl, crouched beside him. She was dressed only in her knee length sleep shirt, and had forgotten that sitting like that showed off more leg than she usually dared. He would never tell her, but watching her walk was one of the pleasures in his life. Now, his dreams had presented him with a gift, to see her limbs without their cladding of leggings. He enjoyed the view. She was so careful in her gestures, softly rubbing his leg with a towel and tentatively checking with her small fingers.

She shifted and rubbed his thigh with the towel. He blinked as that suddenly awoke a flush of warmth and a whole new crowd of sensations clamouring for his attention. He blinked again as he felt shock draw his mind up out of blissful grogginess to fully functioning thoughts. This was no dream. Panic flooded his body with adrenaline and he fought to stay still. What had happened? Why was he lying on the floor? Why was she so carefully drying him, if that was what she was doing?

She nudged the towel over his waist and it made him suddenly aware that it was all that kept him from exposing himself to her. He snatched her arm before he could think. The movement brought down the sudden crushing reality of the pain pounding in his head and oddly outward from his back. It had been distant in his drifting state, but he had made the mistake of moving. He mumbled his words, and instead of thanking her for her care, all he could do was voice the pain. Then, stupidly, the next thing that popped into his head was his lack of clothes. He must have said it aloud because she explained about him slipping in the shower. He tried to keep his bewilderment and disappointment at himself from showing. She had just been so tender towards him and he was acting so, so, well so like a little child. He tried to sit up, and put his hand down on what felt like feathers, and the moment he did so, it hurt! He twisted, trying to relieve the pain and find out what extra part of his body was now trapped. But his feet went one way, his arms another and whatever he landed on, was not either set of limbs. Thoroughly confused, he lay there trying to puzzle out what the hell was going on.

"Er." There was something in the way she said the word, and in the sudden tension in her body that spoke almost too eloquently. She was uncomfortable around him. He knew that, but this was beyond discomfort. He glanced down and nearly felt his cheeks would flame with mortification. He had let the towel slip! He snatched it into place, and felt his blush deepen as he realised that his blush had somehow crept to his stomach. Oh, he felt like crawling away to hide. Had she seen anything? Or was she too embarrassed to be able to look at a man? Or worse, had she seen and not appreciated the view? He suddenly felt all small and ashamed.

He sat up, trying to conquer the agony in the pit of his stomach. He would not cry in front of her, he could manage that amount of dignity in her presence, even if she had dismissed him. She glanced up at him, her pale eyes wide and uncertain. He scratched at his hair self-consciously, not wanting her in any way to be able to tell what he was feeling. But that thought was chased from his mind as his fingers encountered something other than hair. He snatched at it, tugging it. Ow! It was definitely part of him. He tried to see what it was, but his eyeballs would simply not squint so far. He was surprised when she suddenly stroked his head. As if he did not revolt her. He felt that pesky flame of hope awaken again, amid the sea of shame. Feathers? He rubbed what had once been his hair through his fingers, yes, they were feathers. He glanced hesitantly up at her to gauge her reaction, then to his alarm saw that she swayed as she stood.

He leaped to his feet and tied the towel securely. He had forgotten she was sick! She was supposed to be in bed now. He tried to keep his confusion and hurt out of his tone when he asked her why she was out of bed, and was a little startled when she snapped back at him with much less than her usual sharpness. He softened his manner to accommodate her complaints about him falling out of the shower unconscious. Then he checked over his shoulder at what he knew he must see there. Damned great angel wings, showing him up for the strange creature he was. Ah, so this was yet another addition to his curse, he would no longer able to hide among people. He felt a wave of sorrow at how much he was going to miss them. He loved people.

He spread out his arms and the wings followed the movement. He noticed her watching and feeling slightly more encouraged, tried moving the wings independently of his arms. To his surprise, he got it first time. Hah! Had she seen that! Well done, huh? He glanced down and saw her sway where she stood. It was only his own quick reflexes that caught her before she slumped down onto the ground. Damn, he had been paying far too much attention to his own problems. She was the one who was sick! He patted her cheek, and breathed out a breath of relief to find her awake. The odd trusting look she gave him reminded him of a young child, and made him in that moment feel every one of his many years. He could not help the gentle coaxing that he used, it was all he could do to support her as she stood, and he wanted very desperately to carry her. She was so young, so small, and so beautiful, and he knew in his heart that he and his brother had damned her to this dusty dry rock. Agony lanced through his heart as she pushed away from him and tried to walk. Again, his quick reflexes saved her from ending up on the floor. Oh, she was so ill, and he had caused her to exert herself far too much.

He helped her across the kitchen and tried to make himself as helpful as he could. He lifted the blankets for her as she ducked under his arm and curled into the bed. He laid them down carefully and smoothed them out over her back. They felt thick enough, and she should be warm when the night came. He would remember to bring a blanket from his room later once the suns had set, just to be sure.

He stared at the bathroom door as he entered, trying to remember if he had locked it or not. But no, he must have forgotten, because she had been able to enter and help him. A good thing he had forgotten, then. He dressed hastily and then realised he had a real problem. What was he going to do about the wings? He had no clothing that would fit him. He went to fetch a large blanket from his bed, draped it over himself, wings and all. He slouched against the wall of the kitchen to stare out of the window, trying to think of how he was going to handle this latest disruption to enter his life.

He came out of his contemplation when he realised he was standing in the darkness. Wolfwood and Milly still were not back ... mmh? He grinned to himself. He had seen the chemistry between the two that morning and was sure they had managed to ensconce themselves in the corner of some saloon, or perhaps they had even made it to a bed in a more private location. No wonder Milly had left supper out. Oh! Meryl! She would be hungry!

He turned on the lights and tried to shake the dust out of the food, then spent the next few minutes picking out portions of fruit and wiping down the packaged meals so that they were not still gritty. He put it on a tray and crept across to her room. He pushed the door open.

"Are you awake?"

The answer was already evident by the way her eyes glittered when she opened them in the darkness.

"Supper." He tried to make it encouraging.

He plumped up her pillows as she sat up and settled the tray on her lap when she slouched against them. Knowing that she did not prefer his presence, he left quietly to allow her to eat alone. He sat at the table, after first sitting on one wing, then catching the other trying to turn around to free it. All in all, wings were a massive inconvenience. He picked at the prepared meal, not tasting anything. He would have to travel with a cape whenever he came into town. He would have to avoid communal areas, where such an unusual alteration to his body could be seen. Alteration. He sighed. He had seen his sisters, why was he surprised? He grinned suddenly, imagining how shocked Knives must have been to have wings suddenly sprout. He would have liked to see the temper tantrum that followed. Although knowing his brother, he had probably already found a devious use for them.

"Vash?"

He leaned back in his chair, ow! Damned wings. He could not quite see into Meryl's room. He carefully got to his feet and still caught his right wing on the back of the chair. Ow.

"Yo?" He put his head in at the door. She had finished her meal and had put it on the bedside table.

"I'm cold. Can you get me another blanket?"

He shrugged the blanket off his shoulders and after folding it, spread it over her. He lightly touched her forehead, no wonder she was cold. She was burning with fever. To his surprise, she slipped her hand over his and smiled at him.

"You have such beautiful wings."

He stared at her. Was she that bad she was delirious?

She trapped a cluster of his primary feathers with her other hand.

"Can you fly?"

He felt his mouth drop open. He had not even considered that. Wow. What a fantastic idea! He stretched out his wings again; she released the wing tip as he tugged. This time he felt the strength and power in them. They were too weak to hold his body weight, but he could feel the same strange tingling through the flesh and bones that supported the wing structures. There was something in his plant makeup that responded to the movement. He understood then, that the wings were something like his angel arm, augmented by his natural powers. He felt a little pebble of hope flip over in his belly filled with sorrow stones. He knew he would be able to fly. He could do most things he stubbornly put his mind to, despite the incredible amount of hard work required before it became second nature.

Meryl mumbled something and he crouched down beside her. She smiled slightly.

"So can you?"

"I think so." He grinned back at her.

She reached out and grasped his hair between her fingers. Ow! He had forgotten his hair had changed too. He ducked his head out of the way.

"Vash?"

"Mmh?"

"You're my angel." She kissed her fingertips then placed them across his lips.

He sat down hard on the floor, feeling the blush flame across his face. He then remembered how sick she was.

"Go to sleep Meryl." He murmured.

"My angel." She repeated with the most beautiful smile he had ever seen, and closed her eyes. He sat beside her until she had fallen asleep. The skin on his arms was covered in goose flesh and he had discovered a very good use for the wings, he had them fluffed up close to his body, they were warm! He reached out and traced his fingers lightly along her hairline, then her jaw. She was so beautiful. Despite him being so lacking and strange, she had thought him worthy, even in her delirious state, of a kiss. Her kiss. He touched his tongue to his lips. He knew that even if she did not remember this, he would treasure it.


	3. Chapter 3: Learning to Fly

**Learning to Fly**

His breath came sharp and hard against his cheeks. He could taste the bile in the back of his throat, and still he ran. There was an exhausted rhythm to it as his feet pounded onto the sand. Each foot fall with enough pressure to catch his weight, yet light enough to run on shifting sand with a fair amount of speed. He did not look behind him. He could hear the pursuit. Sweat soaked his clothes and the wind that blew froze the moisture on his face. He reached the rocky edge of the escarpment and stumbled to a halt, staring down at the half ile drop before the desert floor continued to stretch out endlessly towards the horizon.

"W-what!" He stammered as he teetered on the edge, searching for a way down. The cliff was sheer, there was a fissure in the rock quarter of an ile down, but that left him with quarter of an ile of free fall. "No, no, nooooo." He exclaimed in frustration.

He glanced behind him for the first time in fifteen minutes. The village folk spread out in a semi circle around him, some carried guns, others pitchforks and scythes. That the farming folk had to use their daily work tools as weapons made his heart clench with pity. Had he scared them that much? He bitterly reflected that he had scared himself, so what chance did other people have?

He tried to tuck his wings behind him, not with much success as they stuck out past his head and the raggedy primary feathers poked out from behind his thighs.

"We've caught you now demon!" Someone shouted, with too much animation and expression to be entirely sober.

Demon. Vash smiled at the crowd, as his heart froze in sorrow. Yes, he was, yet they only saw his form, an ancient image handed down to them as whispered recollections of nightmares. They did not know how true their declaration was. Half of him wanted to walk over to them and let them take his life; he knew he more than deserved it. However, he knew that would not solve things, nor would it help the villagers, as any murder left its mark. He also knew that were they to take his life, the planet would not long survive his brother's wrath. He glanced up at the moons hanging in the skies, deliberately not looking at the fifth. It was the millstone of shame tied to his neck. It found him every night, reminding him of the reason he deserved the name demon.

"Drive him off the cliff!" A gruff voice in the crowd yelled and there was a scuffle to his left.

"You mad? I'm not going any closer!" The scuffle became a brawl, the rest of the crowd suddenly took stock of their situation and Vash sensed an opportunity.

"Yes I am a demon!" He growled in his lowest scariest voice and flared out his wings.

Several of the crowd dropped their weapons and fled. Others packed in closer, brandishing their arms and yelling obscenities at him.

He flinched as a stone clipped the side of his head, and then staggered backwards as a half brick followed.

"He's going to fly away!"

A shot rang out, Vash dodged, but his wings complicated things and he missed his step. It was only with a great panicked flap that he managed to regain his balance on the edge of the cliff.

"He can't fly!" An incredulous voice exclaimed.

Vash could hear an astonished murmur over the general brawl that was happening to his left, but then the sound turned distinctly vindictive. They raised their guns, lowered their pitchforks and scythes, and advanced. His boots scrabbled on the very edge of the cliff. He had nowhere to go.

He tried to dodge the thrown stones and then saw three men pull their triggers at once. He leaped upwards, just dodging, though he felt one catch at his left primary feathers. A moment of intense horror followed as he realised he had leaped backwards. Out from the cliff into the thin air. He screamed and dropped like a stone.

He felt the same warm shimmer across his body, the weird fire under his skin that was the warning that his plant powers were activating. No, no, no! Not so near people! He had to get away, he _had_ to get _away_! He twisted as he passed the quarter ile mark and flared out his wings. He screamed at the tearing pain as they slammed open, catching the air, and almost dislocating from his back. He felt the fire burning all along them and down his back. It took him a few dazed seconds of agony, terror and disorientation to realise that the wings were carrying him. He blinked down at the ground below, he could see by the moonlit dune shadows the insane speed he was travelling. He glanced back the cliff face was almost an ile away, in only a few seconds? He could see where the crowd was by the cluster of lights from the lanterns they carried. He had to keep going. He tried a few experimental flaps, and while this changed his height and direction, it hurt like the blazes. He had pulled muscles and his left wing was protesting badly. He could not fly for long, but at least the flight would allow him to escape. He gritted his teeth and flapped determinedly onwards. He glanced back and saw that the cluster of lights was returning to the village. To the house. Where Meryl lay ill.

"No!" He yelled at the freezing skies and tried to do turn through one hundred and eighty degrees in a split second, as he would have been able to do had he been on his feet. His wings operated differently to his legs, he discovered. He dropped six hundred yarz before he could untidily flap his way into any sort of stable flight.

"Whaa! I really need to learn to fly!" He complained to himself as he doggedly flapped his wings and dragged himself through the skies towards the village.

As he approached, he saw two tomas's running through the sand on the west road, leaving the village behind them in the dust. He caught the odd cross shape over the shoulder of one rider and a very peculiar hunched shape on the second tomas. He almost fell out of the sky in relief. He flapped hastily and muttered pain filled complaints while remonstrating himself for forgetting that sinking to the ground in relief was not an option in the air. He swooped down, and the tomas's, while usually silent creatures let out squawks of terror and tore out into the desert. He flapped back into the air again, careful to keep away. He could hear Wolfwood's cusses following him as he climbed into the icy skies.

It was agony following them, but a greater worry now occupied his mind. How in the world did he land without breaking every bone in his body? He flew up a several hundred yarz and practiced stalls and hovering, often tumbling back down few hundred yarz before he could regain control. This flying thing was more complicated than he thought, and he desperately needed some sort of rudder control, which he did not have. He would have been very upset to grow tail feathers too, but right now he would be glad for them. He flapped away from the running tomas's and climbed as high as he could before he became light headed in the thin freezing air. Okay, there had to be some way of making that fire feeling he could sense into some sort of rudder compensation.

He tried, even to the point of partially manifesting his angel arm, which made him realise he truly had no idea what he was doing and forced him to desist. He was simply going to have to fall as elegantly as he could. Oh man, this was going to hurt.

The two tomas's had stopped by an outcropping of rock and a small fire was flickering hidden to all eyes, except his thirty yarz up. No, he would break his bones if he tried dropping on to rock. He circled around and found the best solution a few hundred yarz away from the rock, a steep dune. He slowed his fall as best he could but still hit the ground hard enough to wind himself utterly and to send himself into a crazy tumble down the dune slope. He tucked his wings and arms in and let gravity take him, bouncing him and slamming him into every rock the dune sand hid beneath its surface. When he finally came to a stop, he could not breathe. His lungs were empty of air. His survival instincts curled his pain-riddled body in a fit of coughing. He dragged the air raggedly into his lungs and lay there. He could taste blood and sand on his tongue. Everything hurt.

He did not realise he had drifted into unconsciousness until he felt someone touch his face.

"He's alive!" Milly's relief worried him.

Vash opened his eyes to find Milly and Wolfwood peering down at him.

"You're a mess Spikey!" Wolfwood declared, kneeling down beside him. "What kind of fool landing was that?"

'The best I could do' was not an admission he was going to make to Wolfwood. He opened his mouth to explain and discovered his tongue hurt, and his lips when he tried to speak. He let out a groan.

"Mister Vash, can you stand?" Milly asked worriedly.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to summon the will to move.

"Hey! Spikey!" Wolfwood cried out in alarm. "Don't die on us here!"

"Mmm not dying." He muttered smiling up at them.

"Anything broken?" Wolfwood asked in a businesslike manner to hide his concern.

He shifted slightly, assessing the feedback of pain.

"No."

"Then we're going to help you up, beside a warm fire will be a better place to sleep than the cold desert sand."

Vash gritted his teeth and only let out a breathy yelp of pain when Wolfwood shifted his left wing to try put his arm around his back.

"Sorry." The priest said gruffly.

Vash managed to stand on his own and using Wolfwood's shoulder as a support every so often, managed the walk back to the rocky outcrop.

He crouched down beside the fire, impressed at how warm it was. Then he saw why, Meryl was still bundled up in her blankets and now red in the face with fever. That was not good; it should have broken by now. Only, now they could not visit the village doctor. He reached over and put his hand on her forehead, she was burning up. He loosened the blankets around her as Milly came over with a fresh cold compress. Meryl opened an eye.

"Vash?" She murmured, then both eyes flew open and she struggled to sit up. "Vash! What happened to you?"

"W-what? Not much!" He grinned. "But your fever is worse!"

"Never mind my fever!" She exclaimed. "You're covered in blood! Even your wings!"

Vash turned to look at his wings, dragging a wing tip through the fire as he did so.

"Yowww!" He yelped and grabbed the flaming feathers. It stank and smouldered as he piled sand on them and whimpered at the searing pain of the burn to his skin at the wing tip.

"Idiot." Meryl said in a soft voice, then reached out and took his wing and put the cold compress onto his burned skin. "Hold it there." She instructed. "And move away from the fire until you are used to your wings."

"Miss Meryl, your fever!"

"Never mind my fever!" Meryl declared. "You and Wolfwood help Vash, he needs it more than I do."

"I'm can manage!" Vash declared. "Milly see to Meryl."

"Right." Wolfwood tweaked his left wing making him yelp.

"Okay, but let me do this first." Vash pushed Wolfwood away. He staggered painfully to his feet and went over to where his bag lay beside Wolfwood's Punisher. He dug through it and took out a tin mug. He dug various small bottles out of his bag, decanted portions of their contents, and then helped himself to the hot water that was boiling in the kettle on the fire. He held out the mug to Meryl.

"Drink that."

She took it and sniffed at the warm golden liquid within.

"Whiskey... and lemon ... and-"

"-honey." Vash smiled. "It's good for fevers."

Meryl took an experimental sip, blinked and wrinkled her nose, then took a larger sip. Vash sat down with the whiskey bottle, took a quick swig, and breathed out as his eyes watered.

"Mister Vash, you are to sit still, or you'll only hurt yourself more."

Vash gritted his teeth and reluctantly sat still as Milly teased out his right wing and tried to see where his injuries were. He took another swig of whiskey; this was going to be very unpleasant.


	4. Chapter 4: Warmth and Blankets

**Warmth and Blankets**

Meryl sipped at her hot toddy, enjoying the fiery warmth as it flowed down her throat and the biting sour sweetness of the honey and lemon on her tongue. Her hands were frozen in the cold night air, but her body was now too warm with fever, so she welcomed the coolness. It was a very odd combination. Milly and Wolfwood tried to help Vash, but he was not in a cooperative mood. He sat sipping at his whiskey bottle, wincing and grimacing as Milly carefully worked her way across his right wing with a cloth dipped in antiseptic.

"Before you start, Milly, he needs to take his shirt off." Wolfwood observed, after he had done a brief examination of his friend. "Vash, were you shot?"

"Maybe?" Vash muttered, with an odd confused expression on his face, as if being shot were the least of his worries. He then grinned broadly and laughed it off.

The amount of blood on his shirt indicated that if not shot, he had some other bleeding injury.

Meryl hid her face in the tin cup, taking tiny sips as Milly and Wolfwood helped Vash to remove his shirt. He shifted and wriggled so as to protect his injuries and tried to do what he could himself. The tension he was radiating was visible only in his clenched abdomen, he seemed relaxed otherwise. She dropped her eyes to the contents of the tin mug when he bit back a gasp of pain and his eyes flickered across to her to see if she had noticed. She acted oblivious for all she was worth, and went back to watching his abs as soon as he turned back to fussing about his shirt with Milly. He had cut holes for his wings in the back of a regular shirt, and removing it required him to fold up his wings to tuck them through the gap. He winced as Milly helped him with his right wing, then gave a ragged gasp of pain and flinched away from them as she lightly touched his left.

"What happened to your wing, Mister Vash?"

"I don't know." He breathed through gritted teeth.

"Not broken?" Wolfwood asked gruffly.

"I don't think so. Aah!"

He ducked his whole body away as Wolfwood touched his wing.

Wolfwood stood from his crouch and dug through his pockets then brought out a tube of tablets.

"Have one." He handed it to Vash.

Vash read the list of ingredients on the side and his eyebrow rose, and the look that passed between him and Wolfwood was solemn.

"You should have said I shouldn't be drinking!" Vash protested and put aside his whiskey bottle, then took a tablet and threw it down his throat and swallowed it.

"Wolfwood what did you give him?" Meryl scolded as Vash tossed the tube back.

"Painkillers." Wolfwood crouched down and examined Vash's side where a graze was seeping blood. "Not shot, but nearly. Anyone tell you, you are damned lucky?"

Vash tried to smile, but it ended up in a peculiar grimace; the ripple of tension had an interesting effect on the muscles along his ribs. Meryl finished her drink and lay down again, exhausted. She wanted to sleep, but could not with Vash sitting so near her. He was beautiful, even when he was injured and bloody.

Vash doggedly saw to his own injuries, cleaning his wounds and taping plasters over them, all except for his wings. He kept flinching and grimacing as Milly and Wolfwood worked on his left wing. Meryl longed to reach over and take his hand, but did not quite dare. He'd been shot twice in the left wing and the feathers were blood soaked. Wolfwood examined the wounds with a torch between his teeth while using his hands to shift the feathers out of the way.

"'ss a messs." He mumbled around the torch.

"Mh!" Vash winced as Wolfwood shifted the feathers for a better look. Wolfwood removed the torch from his mouth.

"I'm not a doctor, but I'd say no flying for a few weeks until these have healed."

Vash caught a strange look in his eye then, panic and fear for a split second, before settling into a determined grimace.

"You got sand in your wounds; we're going to have to flush that out." Wolfwood warned.

Vash did not reply, but wrapped his knees with his arms and tucked his head down.

Meryl was impressed at the way he did not flinch again. Milly was trying to do a careful job and Wolfwood fussily inspected her work. Only a faint tremor to his arms indicated the constrained tension necessary for him to remain silent and still.

Meryl dozed off, and awoke hours later, now shivering in the icy night air. She blinked. She had missed what she had wanted to watch most. She scowled, irritated, then felt a blush creep across her face. If she were honest, voyeurism was not the end she wished, but with Vash perhaps it was all she would get. The fire had died down to embers and the silence of the desert was disturbed only by soft whispers of breathing. She tried to sense the fires warmth, but the cold air stole the heat, and ate at her bones, making her shiver so hard her teeth chattered. She made to shift closer, then but moved only her hand before tugging it back against herself, even moving in her blankets made her colder as she touched places not warmed by her body heat.

Milly and Wolfwood had bundled themselves in blankets on the opposite side of the fire. Vash lay with his back to the fire, his left wing looking clumsy in bandages. His head was near hers, and he had not noticed that she was awake. He lay with his eyes open, staring out at the endless sea of dunes that chased the horizons of the world. A flash of moonlight caught her attention and she realised he was crying. They were not the honest tears of remorse that he let out for everyone to see, but the tears of deep bitter sorrow he cried for himself. She lay watching the little sparkles of pale moonlight glance off his tears, unable to move. If she moved, he would retreat into himself and present his mask to the world again. If she moved, he would know that she had seen that which he would hide. If she moved, she would have to hug him; no feeling being could refuse to comfort another in such deep distress. She scowled at her own cowardice. Why was that a problem? Had she not helped him earlier? The shower incident had been a panic driven attempt; this would be a premeditated intrusion into a very private moment. Premeditated. Ah, she had her solution.

She sat up and yawned, making sure she had made enough noise to alert him to her presence, yet not enough to wake Milly and Wolfwood. She tried to dig at the fire for warmth, then darted back into her blankets to shiver herself warm again. She was honestly freezing now, shivering so badly she could hardly sit upright.

"V- v-v-va-sh-sh-sh?" Her voice came out so wobbly it was hard to make out what she was saying.

He lay still.

She reached over and tugged lightly at his hair. It was as soft and feathery as she remembered it.

"V-va-sh!"

He made a good act of groggily waking up.

"Wassit?" He mumbled.

"U-um..." Now that she thought of it, she did not know what to do next.

He levered himself up onto his elbow and rubbed his eyes. He took in her situation in one glance.

"Oh, you're cold!" He immediately stood up and took his blankets and wrapped them around her. Ah! The warmth was utter bliss. She was so startled at his reaction all she could do was stare. He crouched beside her and chafed her arms until she overcame her shock enough to grab his arm, feeling twice as bad for him. He was hurt, physically injured, and now cold.

"Vash you're hurt. Take your blankets back."

"I've got to build up the fire." He smiled and patted her hand, then tucked it gently back into the nest of blankets, taking care to fold the outer blanket around her so that no air entered.

Meryl lay back down, exhaustion taking the better of her, as he fussed around the fire, finding more fuel and building it up so it gave off a good heat again. She watched him work as the moonlight and firelight glowed against his skin; the symphony and harmony of the movements as highlighted in the dim light were intoxicating.

He sat down beside her bed startling her with his sudden nearness. He put his hand over her forehead, his palm was warm and calloused, and his touch very gentle. He withdrew his hand too soon for her liking then frowned worriedly.

"Oh." He murmured as if a thought had just occurred to him. "Do you think our problems are linked?" He asked.

"What?" Meryl exclaimed. She did not follow his reasoning. She firmly dismissed it to the fact that she was becoming dozy as her body warmed up little by little, not because she had no processing power left in her mind while watching the light on his skin.

"That warehouse, three weeks ago..."

They gazed at each other, both recalling. Vash had stumbled in on a gang of bandits and their kidnap victim in a warehouse, and during the proceedings, she and Vash had ended up drenched in some sticky substance that had taken a full week to get off the body. She had felt fine for two weeks after that, as had he... only now she was sick and he had wings. She shuddered and he fussed the blankets around her. What had that stuff been? She stared up at him in horror, surely, there was no substance that could do that? She then realised he was only wearing thin sleep trousers. He was injured and in worse pain and discomfort than she, yet he had relinquished his blankets.

"Vash stop being an idiot!" She scolded and forced herself to sit up in the cold air. She exhaustedly hauled off his blankets and shoved them at him.

"Wha- What? I was only trying to help." He murmured pathetically, holding his blankets with a hurt expression on his face.

"By making yourself sick!"

"By keeping you warm!" He protested as she bowed over and shivered in her own.

She felt him put the blankets back over her then he leaned over and grabbed the bundled coat he was using as a pillow.

"I'll lie here beside you and we can both use the blankets." He declared with a smile.

She gaped at him in utter astonishment. Was this it? Her prayers heard and answered? He put down the coat, lifted the blankets and lay down, shifting to get comfortable beside her, though careful not to touch her.

What was he doing? She could not work out the mixed signals she was receiving.

"Why are you scowling?" He asked, wide eyed, and to her dismay, leaned back from her. She tried to remove her scowl, but the smile she offered ended up a grimace at his reluctance.

"Are you upset? Did I say something wrong?" He asked, shifting further away from her, his brows furrowing as he thought.

"Vash-" It was all she got in as she watched him rapidly process what he had just said. His eyes went wide and a blush flooded his face as he realised the implications.

"I never meant like that, sorry. Very inappropriate suggestion. Keep the blankets." He stood up so swiftly that all Meryl could grab was the ankle of his trousers. He tried to tug free but she latched both hands around his ankle.

"Stop being an idiot." She murmured, holding his foot as he peered down at her.

He crouched down and put his hand over her forehead in more of a caress than a fever test.

"Ah, Meryl, this fever, if you knew what it was doing to you." He stroked the sweat-dampened hair out of her eyes. "Keep the blankets; it's my turn to keep watch, anyhow."

She glanced up to see Wolfwood standing on top of the ridge, gazing down at them.

She lifted her head to look across the fire; Wolfwood's blankets still looked like he slept in them. Only, no, now that the fire was brighter, that was Milly. Milly! Well, it seemed her friend had no problem making her man understand!

Vash disentangled his foot from her grasp, shook out his coat and draped it over his shoulders and wings, and lightly stepped over her to relieve Wolfwood on the watch.

Meryl lay back and almost ground her teeth in frustration, wondering how to make it clear that she liked him, because Vash seemed to miss such hints. She closed her eyes, listening to his every footfall as he climbed the rock that sheltered them. She had been so close. So very close. She found the blanket he had wrapped around his body and pulled it out from among the others. She ducked her head under the blankets so no one could see her and clutched the blanket to herself. She blinked at the tears she was most defiantly not crying over the stupid man, as she shivered herself warm. She fell asleep hugging the blanket.


	5. Chapter 5: The Best and Worst

**The Best and Worst**

It took some effort, but Meryl climbed out of bed. She was feeling much better than she had been the past few weeks. After a week of nights spent in the icy cold, and the days in the scorching heat of the desert as they had travelled to the next town, they had settled in a small apartment at the back of a tomas stables. Their semi-detached place had four small bedrooms, two upstairs, two down. She and Vash being the sick and injured ones got the downstairs rooms. However, he was looking much better than he had the day after his injuries. He had walked that day, while she had sat in front of Milly on the tomas and dozed. She had never seen him so obviously process physical pain before as he had on that day. It seemed that he did not quite know what to do with an injury to his wings. He kept flaring them, then wincing, then trying to tuck them away and wincing again, then fussing with the bandage then arguing with Wolfwood about refusing painkillers. Ugh, she could do with some painkillers now. She had a lingering headache.

She leaned against the dressing table, which consisted of a chipped mirror placed on top of a chest of drawers. Being able to stand was a vast improvement. She could manage it now without the room splitting in two and dancing around her making her so dizzy it was all she could do to hold onto the floor. She did not check herself in the mirror; the last glimpse she had seen was of her own sunken eyes. It had scared her how ill she had looked. She turned away before she could see herself. Ugh, but her pyjamas were sticky. When last had she changed them? She could not remember, eew, it was revolting if she didn't know. She slowly crossed over to the door and closed it, then stripped the offending clothes off as fast as she could. Even the cool morning air was better than sweat soaked pyjamas. Mother naked, she crouched down beside her bed and dragged her pink travelling case out from under the bed. It jammed not even an eighth of the way out. However, that was not a problem; she could get her hand in. She reached in for clean clothing and felt something warm and furry, then something rough licked her hand.

She screamed and leaped away from her bed, her heart pounding. The door slammed open behind her and Vash stormed in, gun in his hand, staring around for a threat. She curled up to hide herself, trying not to laugh hysterically, or burst into sobs that were threatening.

oOo

Vash rushed in, and saw her huddled on the floor whimpering, but what stalled him at the threshold was the fact that she was naked. He could only see her back, with the little bumps on her smooth skin, indicating each vertebra on her spine. He could not stop his eyes in time as they automatically trailed down, then he could not drag his eyes away. She had dimples on her pale bottom. His thinking brain became so much sludge as his body invested blood to more appropriate areas. She turned then, noticing him and screamed again, trying to cover herself with what she snatched from her pink bag that was still under the bed. A very lacy thong did not do much in the way of covering; neither did it lessen her embarrassment, if her horror struck expression was any measure. He snatched off the coat he wore over his shoulders and wings, crossed the room in two strides and dropped it over her.

"Get out!" She yelled at him from somewhere under the draped red material.

He made his retreat as noisily as he could and shut the door with a loud click.

Oh man, the last glimpse he had had of her was her huddled in his coat, but all his mind could see were her dimpled buttocks. He shook his head, trying to focus his thoughts. That only mixed up the images, her in his coat with her dimpled buttocks, gah! This was getting nowhere! He hurried out of the house, swung himself up onto the wall at the back of the tomas stables and leaped into the air, his wings just catching him before he hit the ground. How would she look if he carried her in his coat with ... He flew, hard and fast, but there was no running from his own mind. Once he was a fair distance out into the desert he landed again – he had been practicing since his wings had been strong enough to hold him – and he slid down the side of a sand dune and lay sprawled on his back, his wings and arms splayed with his feet higher than his head. Not that it helped much.

oOo

Meryl peeked out from under the heavy material of the red coat. He had left and had shut the door. She breathed out a sigh of relief and then tugged the coat tightly around her, hiding her head and body in the folds. She had never been so embarrassed in her whole life. She was feeling rather achy now as the adrenaline wore off and her heart slowed its hammering. Her breathing had slowed now, and she sniffed. Mmh, the coat smelled of him. She buried her face into the material, drinking in the scent, then realised what she was doing and snatched her head up. She peeked out from underneath it just to check that no one had seen her. No. She was alone in her room. What did he think, running in on a woman? She had screamed, of course he had come running. It was then she remembered she was not alone in her room. She huddled into the coat, feeling the slight roughness of the inner lining against her back, and slipped her arms through the sleeves. He was ridiculously long limbed, and she had to push up the right sleeve before she could use her hand.

She peered under the bed to her bag. Large green eyes peered back. A cat. A furry black cat had sneaked into her clothes and had made a warm nest in her underwear. She tentatively reached for her bag and the cat pulled its ears back and gave an ominous hiss.

"Hey, kitty, I need my clothes."

She approached her bag slowly, hoping to snatch the first item she could grab. The hiss became a slight menacing yowl. Meryl snatched her hand back. She just wanted to get dressed so she could feel better about herself. She sat down on the floor and rubbed at her face to get rid of the tears of exhausted frustration. Then saw what she was using to rub her face.

"Eeew!" She yelped and tossed the thong away from herself. The lacy underwear landed on the bed. She took a deep breath and tugged the bag from under the bed, but half way it jammed, the part with the cat in it was still stuck in the darkness. The cat was growling menacingly now. She had never known cats could growl like that, it was a particularly eerie sound implying all kinds of unpleasant threats.

"Hush, hush, kitty." She tried to keep her frustration out of her voice. "I just need my clothes." She did not have much luck with intonation. She was feeling decidedly shaky now. Now she would settle for another pair of pyjamas. Anything. She looked at the sweat soaked clothes in the corner. No, she would not wear them again, they were clammy and they stank. She darted her hand into her bag, grabbed an item and the cat caught her across her wrist and hand with a swipe of its razor sharp claws. She yelped then sucked at her hand. It then occurred to her that she had dropped her clothes back into the bag. Much good they would have done her, she had snatched a sock and a necktie. She wiped her eyes on the sleeve of the coat, then after checking the cat was not looking, buried her face into the material again. It smelled gorgeous. A devious plan slowly formed as she sniffed the material. Her bag was not accessible, but his was. It would be very reasonable to ask him for a shirt, would it not? She snatched the thong and slipped it on, at least she was not entirely naked.

She wrapped the coat around herself, as skinny as he was, he was still bigger than she was, and taller. She trailed duster tails after her as she crossed her room. She peeked out and found that the house was silent.

"Vash?"

There was no reply. She sneaked out of her room, making sure to hold the coat tightly around her. She peered into his room. It was tidy. His duffle was leaning against the cabinet and his bed was neatly made. She had never thought him one to make his bed, but here was the evidence. Unless Milly did it and he let her to avoid a fuss. Infuriating man, he did that sort of thing. She glanced back into the kitchen, no one there, and from here she could see into the bathroom, no one again. She walked over to his duffle and undid the string, then had a sudden premonition and snatched her hands away as if they had been burned. She ducked down and peered under the bed. There was no one there. She breathed out a sigh of relief and went back to raiding his bag. So much for tidiness. Everything was jammed in this way and that. She found boxes of .45 bullets, loose $$ bills, a sock which by the smell of it needed several trips to the laundry before it could ever be worn again. She tugged everything out after coming up with nothing at an arm's length. She was disappointed by the contents of his bag. It was so normal. She had hoped to find some sort of elixir for angels, or some fantastic weapon, or even a piece of lost technology. But all he had were trousers, shirts, shoes, bottles of oils and cloths to maintain his weapons, boxes of ammunition, and an interesting collection of underwear. She held up a pair that said "No No No" all over them. What odd boxers. She wondered where he had obtained them, on second thoughts, she did not want to know. It bothered her as she jammed all the clothing and equipment back as close to how it had been. She snatched the odd boxers and stuffed them in, and stared. In the darkness of the bag they said "Yes Yes Yes" in pale glowing letters. She pulled them out just to check and in the light the 'Yes's' all faded leaving only the 'No's' visible. She put them out on the drawer and stared at them. There was no doubt about it; they were the cheekiest boxers she had ever seen. Who would have liked Vash enough to buy him underwear that said that on it? Rather shaken she tied the bag closed and scuttled out of the room with her stolen shirt.

She took her time in the shower. Having been sick so long, being clean was wonderful. She did feel better, she had been right that dressing would help. She pulled his shirt on, it came to her knees and if she rolled up the sleeves, it would make a decent dress. She pulled his coat on and made no effort to hide how she devoured the scent. She went to sit in the kitchen and took the note pad and stub of a pencil Milly had left on the counter and began to make notes so she could type up a report later. Wings. How was Bernadelli going to take that?

oOo

Vash returned as the sun set, he landed beside the house and walked in, drawn by the scent of cooking food. Milly was making stew and Wolfwood was sitting on the floor with his punisher, getting under her feet while he tried to work the day's sand off his weapon. Meryl, he was pleased to note, was up and seated at the kitchen table. Milly had her helping with chopping vegetables. Only she was dressed in his red coat, and from what he could see, one of his shirts. He clenched his fist and mastered his runaway thoughts.

"Hello!" He called happily, relaxing as he shut the door. "Meryl, you're up!"

"Barely." She grumbled.

Wolfwood gave a snort of laughter. Meryl chucked a piece of chopped vegetable very accurately at him. He only laughed harder.

"Thank you for letting Miss Meryl borrow your clothes." Milly said.

"It's okay!" He smiled and walked across to his room. He wanted to breathe the air in the house for a few seconds without having to dig his mind out of the gutter every other second. All the entertainment girls usually offered to his mind was useless; they could distract him and allow him a glimpse at happiness. All Meryl did was get uncomfortably under his skin and make him want to be near her, and there lay the root of the problem. She did not want him near her. He walked into his room and leaned against the wall out of sight of the kitchen. He was going to explode from having to dodge around issues with her. W-wait... how had she found a shirt? He had not left any lying out. He turned to his bag and found it propped up where he had left it. On the drawers lay a pair of underwear that had "No No No" all over it, ah, so she had been through his bag. He snatched up the briefs.

"Wolfwood! Delivery!"

He shot the briefs across the room as if they were an elastic band; they flew in a graceful arc to land on Wolfwood's head. The priest grabbed them.

"Oh! You still have the underwear I bought you." Milly said, pleased.

Wolfwood shot a scowl of pure loathing at Vash, a cringing apology to Meryl and had reassembled his face into a bright smile by the time he reached Milly.

"Yes, dear. Thanks!" He jammed them into his pocket.

"Er, why does Mister Vash have them?" Milly asked, wide eyed.

"We had to pack in a hurry." Wolfwood grouched. "I ended up with twenty pounds of .45 long colt bullets which I don't use that I had to lug around until we could get our luggage sorted. He got the better side of the bargain."

"Another man's briefs? I don't think so!" Vash pulled a face.

oOo

She had to wait until after supper, before she could broach the subject with Vash.

"I need some help." She said as he shoved his chair back, stretched out his long legs and sipped at his beer.

"Mmh?" He said slowly and contentedly, was he already mellow after a few sips? Meryl could not get her head around Vash and his relationship with alcohol. He did not handle the stuff well, but he still drank happily, as if he did not know the consequences were usually a hurried dash outside towards the end of the evening.

"We've all tried, but we can't get the cat out of my bag? Do you think you could?"

"A cat!" He exclaimed and put his beer down. "Really?"

They followed him into the room and he crouched down beside the bag. He peered in and the cat set up its yowling again.

"Ooh!" Vash exclaimed and stuck his head right into the gap. "OW!" He jerked backwards as the cat hissed and caught him across his face, drawing blood in three lines across his cheek and nose. "Ow! Ow! Ow!" He turned to them with a smile. "She has kittens!"

"A cat had kittens in my bag?" Meryl exclaimed furiously.

"Look how tiny and furry they are." Vash crooned in a gentle voice he usually reserved for children. "Wolfwood lift the bed so we can get them out."

Meryl suddenly felt very silly and Milly and Wolfwood both shared sheepish glances, none of them had thought of that.

Meryl watched in amazement at how carefully Vash carried her bag to the table, and then he found a plastic crate and lined it with one of the pillows from his bed. He lifted the cats into their new nest. The mother cat tried to scratch him each time he lowered a kitten in but he kept smiling and murmuring softly to her. By the time he was finished they were all gathered around the crate and admired the tiny little kittens, still with their eyes closed, some were suckling, others sleeping.

"You're going to have to wash these." Vash said and lifted out two handfuls of clothes. All her underwear and bras, and he seemed to be oblivious as to what he was holding. Meryl darted around him, accidently stepping on his trailing wing feathers. He yelped.

"Sorry! Put those down!" She hissed. "I'll sort it out."

He then looked down and went red, then held them out to her with his eyes screwed shut.

"Put them down!" She hissed at him.

"They will make your other clothes dirty, take them!" He whined in mortification.

She snatched them out of his hands and marched across to the bathroom. Stupid man. Stupid stupid man!

She scrubbed all her clothing clean and only emerged by the time Wolfwood had excused himself for the night. Milly entered the bathroom as she left it, yawning and trooped upstairs saying she would also have an early night. She shut the bathroom door. Meryl looked at Vash who now had a plaster across his nose and was sitting beside the box of kittens smiling at them. No one had bothered to close her bag, the contents of which were visible for all to see. Even the private items only women required. She slammed her bag closed and hauled it as hastily as she could back to her room. It was perhaps the worst day of her life.

She changed into her own clothes and stood for a long moment in her room, her face burrowed into his coat. Who would have thought that she would ever have this opportunity? She sighed, and headed out of the room. The kitchen was in darkness, and there was no light from upstairs. Vash had left his door ajar and there was a stripe of light intruding across the dark room. She walked over and knocked.

He was sitting in his pyjamas with the crate on his lap. She could see the scars on his bare feet.

"Look!" He waved her in.

The mother cat was busy licking the tiny kittens. They were the softest bundles of fur she had ever seen.

She sat beside him on the bed where he indicated with a wing and listened while he told her the name of each one. He was descriptive. Sandy and Dustball were easy to explain, as were Doughnut and Cinnamon, but Romeo and Desdemona were lost on her. She listened to his explanation and then recitation of parts of Shakespeare. She was not sure when she fell asleep, but she knew she had not shaken the illness entirely if she simply fell asleep while someone was talking.

She woke in the early hours of the morning, far too warm. She shifted away, then froze. At first she thought it was a dream, finding herself lying beside Vash, then she realised he was real. He was sleeping on his stomach almost falling off his side of the bed so as to make room for her. He had spread his blankets over her and made do with his coat and his wings. Only, one wing draped all over the floor and the other was all over her, making her far too warm.

She debated going back to sleep right where she was, but could only imagine the ribbing Wolfwood would give her if he saw her emerging from Vash's room the next morning. Not that she would take anything like that from that priest, but best not to give him the chance. She shifted and checked to see if he responded. He seemed dead to the world. Taking the opportunity, she brought her hands up and satisfied a curiosity that had been burning in her.

oOo

Vash woke to a sensation he could link to only one cluster of memories. His very early childhood, when Rem used to sit with him and Knives as they went off to sleep. If they were restless, she would trail her fingers across their shoulders and heads. Tickling. It made him want to twitch his wing out of the way and ask if she would not try running her fingers through his hair. But he did not dare move. She was touching him and thought him asleep.

oOo

Oddly, his wings were not as soft as she had expected them to be. Between the feather shafts, which were hard, there were soft downy feathers, but she'd expected to encounter downy softness the length of his wing, and had not. It became softer the closer she came to his back. By contrast, his skin was smooth where it wasn't scarred. Though the scars had their own fascinating texture, she was not sure if they hurt to touch. She tentatively ran her fingers across the whole pieces, startled at how skin could feel like warm satin. That was even better than the soft downy feathers. She felt a slight shift in the muscles under her fingers and glanced up. He was awake and watching her. Only, instead of looking upset, or confused, he had a slight smile on his face and a very gentle expression in his eyes. She blushed crimson and snatched her hand away.

"Sorry." She mumbled, and slipped out of the bed as hastily as she could, then darted out of the room. It took a very long while for her to shiver her bed sheets warm before she fell asleep, and she could not get his expression out of her mind. He knew she liked him. That was _not_ how she wanted it. He could use such a thing against her. Moreover, she could not make out what his expression meant. Had he enjoyed the tickling, or was he pleased that she was tickling him? Or was it that he was half asleep and thought he was dreaming? There was no doubt he would remember in the morning. Oh yes, this definitely was the worst day of her life.

oOo

Vash opened his eyes the next morning, waking as he did just before his alarm went off. He smacked it as the first ring began. He sat up and stretched out his wings, the right in particular. She had spent five glorious minutes exploring the feathers. It had been slightly ticklish, but also wonderful. Then she had caught him awake. She had flinched away, but not before he had seen that it was not revulsion that caused her to do so. A flaming red blush had covered her face and she had spent much of those five minutes smiling. No, it was completely the other way around he had been mistaken. She liked him and for some reason, struggled to express it when he was conscious. He recalled how careful she had been when she thought him out cold on the bathroom floor. And now, again, when she had thought him asleep. Well, he could deal with that. He set about his morning exercises with vigour. She liked him despite the wings. He felt so light he felt he could fly without their aid. This was a good day. A very good day.


End file.
